


Speak Not Unto the Sunlight

by Coyote Grins (Inksinger), Inksinger



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Coyote%20Grins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Inksinger
Summary: [[Earth-adjacent, Stokeresque AU, wherein Azeroth is and has always been populated solely by humans... or so the humans think. No elves here; I'm as sad as you probably are about that.]]After a pack of wolves attacks his convoy on the road, outrider Koltira Dawnweaver finds himself lost in the shadowy depths of the Silverpine Forest. Injured and alone, he seeks sanctuary in the dark, abandoned castle at the heart of the misty wood - but all is not as it seems, and in escaping the known threat of the forest and its inhabitants, he may instead walk willingly into the embrace of a far deadlier adversary.





	Speak Not Unto the Sunlight

Koltira grit his teeth and growled as he tied off the scrap of cloth around his leg. Blood had already begun to dot the outer layer of the makeshift bandage, but at least it should keep him from leaving too much of a trail for the damned wolves to follow. Hopefully, it would also keep him from losing so much blood that he passed out before he could find the road and return to civilization. The claw wounds on his arms were bloodied, but for the most part they had already stopped oozing of their own accord, and shouldn't reopen so long as he was careful; the bruises littering his flushed skin were painful, but only enough so to be an aggravation.

He could have done a much better job of patching his injuries than this, of course, save that his field pack, with its antiseptic, catgut string, and linen wraps, had been in his saddlebags - and those had been lost with his horse when the poor beast had thrown Koltira and fled blindly into the forest with half the pack hot on its hocks. In lieu of his gear, Koltira had been forced to tear a long strip from his cloak.

The other half had come after Koltira, sensing that a half-dazed two-legger in leather boots and fingerless cotton gloves might be easier prey than a hoofed beast that outweighed even the biggest wolf by several hundred pounds. Koltira had thrown all caution to the wind in the ensuing chase, tearing off through the trees in the opposite direction from his horse in hopes that he could keep the pack separated long enough to lose the three on his tail.

And, to be fair, he _had_ succeeded in keeping the pack from reuniting - all but the fourth wolf, which had come barreling from the shadows to his right and locked its teeth about his thigh just when he thought he might escape the beasts altogether.

The wolf's momentum had carried them both off their feet, and somehow in the tumble that followed Koltira had managed to tear himself free of the killing jaws and land a hard enough blow to the creature's snout to send it reeling back for the few seconds he'd needed to scramble back onto his feet and continue running.

He'd fallen down a shallow ravine at some point not long after that. Considering his next clear memory had been of opening his eyes and finding himself face-down in the middle of a thick batch of ferns, he guessed the fall must have been hard enough to stun him, if not knock him out entirely.

Why the wolves had yet to catch up with him, Koltira couldn't guess; they hadn't been that far ahead of them, and even if he _had_ been far enough that they lost sight of him, it didn't seem likely that they had lost his scent trail, too - not with the amount of blood he'd been losing before. On the other hand, it made even _less_ sense that they had found and then left him unconscious and injured at the bottom of a steep but easily navigable slope. No wolf in its right mind would pass up such an easy meal - and his pursuers hadn't seemed rabid so much as hungry.

The question of his strangely good fortune plagued him as he hauled himself painfully to his feet. The wolves were acting oddly, and in Koltira's experience, an animal at home in its own territory only behaved oddly when something was amiss. Since Koltira was _also_ currently in the wolves’ territory, he would be a fool not to worry about whatever else might be stirring up trouble in the forest around him - and so as he at last dragged himself away from the little alcove he'd taken shelter in, he moved slowly and placed his feet with great care, hoping to counteract the heavy limp he was left with. If there _was_ something in the woods that could scare a pack of wolves away, he didn't want to attract its attention by tromping noisily through the underbrush.

But his newly reduced speed came with a challenge of its own. The late afternoon had fallen into dusky, moonless twilight before Koltira had made much progress, and in the absence of any sun- or moonlight, the forest swiftly became too dark to safely navigate.

Koltira dragged himself resolutely onward, determined at least to find better shelter than the shallow alcove he'd left before he allowed himself to settle in and wait for dawn… but there was nothing more to be found, and soon he was forced to stop or risk breaking his neck in the darkness.

His flint, at least, lay safe in the breast pocket of his jacket. If nothing else, he could build a little fire from the twigs and dry foliage underfoot and pray that it would stave off the cold shadows of the night. Perhaps it would even ward the wolves away, should they return.

Searching for sticks enough to build his fire seemed to take an eternity all its own, and by the time he'd finished his gathering and cleared a space, his leg felt aflame with fresh pain. It was all he could do to ease himself softly down to sit against a large, mossy tree before his leg gave out entirely.

His hands shook with cold and shock as he struck the flint, but somehow he managed to spark a little flame without torching his clothes in the process. In just a few minutes, he had enough of an inferno going to give him some meager but of warmth and light, though it did little to combat the oppressive darkness of the forest as night fell at last over the land.

Hurt, cold, and tethered to his little fire, Koltira wrapped himself tightly in the remnants of his cloak and tried to fall asleep - but his mind continued to race about in circles, and no matter how he tried he couldn't shake the sense that something or some _one_ was watching him. It almost seemed as though something _must_ surely be watching him; if he was truly alone again, it was yet one more sharp turn of events for him to try to wrap his mind around.

When he set out that morning, there had been no hint that the day would turn out like this. The morning had been misty and unseasonably chilly, true, and the forest had been unusually quiet, but he had encountered stranger things than a bit of quiet in his work as an outrider. Besides, the travelers he and his fellows had been hired to accompany were a noisy, jovial group, guffawing and eagerly commenting on the few creatures that lingered near the road in spite of the racket they put up. It had been easy, at the time, to dismiss the stillness of the forest as having been a result of the smaller woodland creatures fleeing from the chaos of a bunch of two-leggers stomping through the trees.

And that was just what he had done - until the wolves had come, and scattered the entire convoy.

One of the men had been dragged away, screaming, by the largest wolf of the pack, and Koltira had given chase while the rest of his fellows fought to protect the rest of the group - and prevent anyone else from riding off to try to be a hero.

Koltira shivered and pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. He'd been accosted by the pack long after the convoy had disappeared behind him, while he rode in search of any sign of his missing charge. He hoped the others were alive and well; it was hard enough to know there was little chance for his horse or the man the wolves had dragged away.

A soft breeze picked up, gently pushing the fire away from Koltira for a moment. He breathed the cool air deeply, grateful for the short reprieve from the hot, hazy smoke--

Something moved in the shadows beyond the firelight.

The breath he drew turned to a startled gasp - too much, and the air was too damp and cold, and before he could stop himself Koltira fell into a coughing fit, burying his face helplessly into the crook of his arm to try to stifle the worst of the noise. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the forest as he fought to silence himself, but by the time he finally fell still again, the movement had disappeared altogether… if it had even been there to begin with.

He stared into the trees a moment longer, but nothing else seemed to move in the darkness, and eventually he realized that the firelight was growing dim, and as a result the darkness was becoming more and more impenetrable.

The threat of being plunged into absolute blackness was just enough to let him tear his eyes off the forest and build the flames back up - but his hands shook harder now, and the moment he could safely look away his eyes returned to the darkness beyond.

Time passed him by unheeded as he watched the forest, certain that whatever he had seen before still skulked just beyond his line of vision, watching him as he tried to get his eyes on it, waiting for him to relax again, or to turn away for just a moment longer.

Another breeze came and stirred the leaves of a nearby shrub. Koltira flinched, but it was only the wind this time; no eyes glared at him from behind the leaves, and no large, furry form stalked through the foliage beyond. Whatever might be out there, it wasn't going out of its way to make its position known.

The fire seemed to blur beside him, warm and soothing like a favorite blanket on a stormy night, but indistinct as it fluttered merrily about the careful pile of sticks and kindling that sustained it. It soon burned low again, however, and for a second time Koltira was forced to turn his attention away from the looming darkness so that he could keep the flames beside him fed and brightly burning.

Once again, though he trembled and worked as quickly as he could without killing the fire, he was left alone: Nothing came barreling from the forest to rip him open, not even when he fumbled part of the fire and nearly smothered the entire thing before he was able to fix what had been knocked out of place.

There was only stillness in the forest now, and although he never quite relaxed, Koltira found himself wondering dimly if perhaps he hadn't simply imagined the entire episode. There had been a breeze, after all; what if the movement that had startled him had been a branch swaying with the wind, or a handful of leaves on a low-growing shrub?

His eyes were heavy; the pain in his leg had finally dulled down into a throbbing, steady ache. Sitting so near to his tiny fire, Koltira could almost believe that he was beginning to feel warm again, just when he had begun to think he might be cold for the rest of his miserable life. It must have been a branch, that movement from before. Just a branch in the wind, swaying harmlessly about. There was nothing out here with him - just his little fire and the teasing, chilly wind.

He drifted again, slow and soft into the darkness of his own mind, lulled by the steady crackling of the fire. At some point there came a low, gentle snuffling over his right ear, but he was so tired, and the fire was so warm…

Something brushed against his hand - something wet and matted. Something _furry--_

Koltira jerked about, half rising to his feet before a wave of giddiness sent him tumbling back onto his backside. He scrambled blindly across the ground all the same, backing away from whatever in the hell had come up on him unannounced even as his head swam still and his vision danced dangerously close to blacking out entirely.

“Who's there?” he snapped, trying not to let his voice tremble too badly. Dark blotches still bloomed before his eyes, and between these and the dancing shadows created by the firelight it was impossible yet to tell what he was facing or whether it was advancing on him. He could hear the beast breathing, and that was bad enough - surely it was right there, right on top of him, watching and waiting for him to make too sudden a movement in the wrong direction…

He reached back again to drag himself farther away and screamed as pain flared white-hot through his palm. The fire crackled behind him as he ripped his hand from its depths, batting feverishly at the little flames that licked along his sleeve and then cradling his hand close against his chest.

The pain brought tears to his eyes, and would have blinded him if it hadn't already been so blasted dark. He grunted, his face twisting hard as the burn reached a crescendo and flared up through his wrist. Not a severe one, then, not if it hurt this intensely, but _damn--!_

Something snapped beside him, and the pain was forgotten as Koltira jerked upright again and turned to face the sound - only to watch as some of the wood feeding the fire snapped again, sending up sparks as though to mock him for being so afraid.

Koltira didn't relax. He couldn't relax - not when he knew there must be some drooling, hungry beast lurking about, and when every second came and went with the fear that son he would find himself crushed beneath the monster's weight and ripped apart by fangs and claws. Surely it was out there, watching him like he knew it must be. There had to be something out there. He couldn't have imagined it twice…

But once again, nothing happened. There was no bloodthirsty howl in the night. There was no chaos of limbs and leaf litter flying in the firelit darkness.

There was nothing.

There was _nothing._

Koltira shouted again, fear giving way to anger as he turned sharply away from the forest and inspected his injured hand by the light of the fire. All this hurt, all this fear and exhaustion, all of it for _nothing at all?_

His hand was bright red, and his palm had begun to blister were the contact had been the most prolonged and direct. The discoloration was darkest in the spots where the skin had grown tough in response to the heat, and in several places, his palm had been scratched and split by the burning sticks, adding a few blotches of scorched blood to the mess.

Koltira swore and reached again for his cloak with his good hand, shaking and brushing the detritus from the bottom hem before wrapping a corner of it around his injured hand, hissing through his teeth as he forced himself to make the wrap snug. His burns shrieked in protest, and there were tears streaming down his face by the time he knotted the fabric in place with his teeth and good hand.

He would wash the burns under cool water, or any water at all - but his canteen was gone with nearly all the rest of his equipment, secured to the saddle and either still attached to his horse or lost somewhere on the forest floor. The only things he still had were his flint and the clothes on his back; he'd never thought to prepare for any eventuality where he was separated from his horse for longer than perhaps an hour.

The breeze picked up again, and this time the chill of it bit into him like knives. Koltira shuddered, and a low whimper slipped through his teeth as he huddled closer to the fire again, desperate to keep himself warm, at the very least. He knew, dimly, that he was going into shock, but beyond staying warm, he couldn't clearly recall how to treat shock.

He shivered again as his jaws parted in a wide, sudden yawn, and when he was finally able to get his teeth again he was left struggling to open his eyes. There was a niggling scrap of instinct at the back of his mind, an urgent whisper that warned him against giving in to the weariness in his bones, but the fog of exhaustion had grown thick about him, and the longer he sat in his miserable little heap, the heavier his limbs became. He was cold and hurt, and scared and alone in the dark forest, and all he wanted now was just to sleep, to close his eyes and retract ikri a darkness that was warm and safe and devoid of dancing shadows and snarling wolves. Surely dawn would come more swiftly if he slept - surely, surely, if he slept for just a little while, it wouldn't do any greater damage than what he'd already endured. He only wanted to sleep for just a little while. He was so _tired…_

Instinct drove him to fight against the foggy weariness, to fight against his own mewling, quivering body and try to _stay awake_ for just a little and a little longer. Just a few more minutes - and once those passed, perhaps another handful more. Just a little longer at a time, he _had_ to stay awake, the darkness would devour him if he could not stay awake.

It was a battle he could never have hoped to win, not as he was. He drifted farther out, leaning back against the tree again and closing his eyes at long last - just for a moment, surely, surely a moment's rest couldn't hurt. He only needed a little doze, just a few minutes’ rest, and then he could stay awake until the sun rose. Just a little nap, nothing more.

The fire burned merrily beside him, like a hearthfire burning in a quiet, smoky inn, and as he drifted off he imagined he could hear someone speaking softly to his right - but they spoke much too quietly, and from much too great a distance, and he drifted off to sleep as he tried halfheartedly to decipher what they said to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration drawn from Bram Stoker and the gothic side of tumblr. I have no idea what I'm doing.


End file.
